


steve is trans fuck you

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, LGBTQ Character, Overuse of semicolons, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Steve Rogers, Transphobia, in which steve deals with mourning by joining a community that he didn't know existed, stucky if u squint, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-01 23:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20266375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	steve is trans fuck you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/508465) by transbucky. 

Before, it'd been all old nylons pulled too tight and hand-me-downs from Bucky. Bandages and tape on his chest and socks in his briefs, though his pants were too baggy for anyone to see what may or may not have been there in the first place. It'd been warm, firm hands on his skinny shoulders and "c'mon, little fella; let's get'cha outta here." Laughter from his best friend when he teased "hey, maybe now I can get with that Janice girl who's always hangin' out with Bertha. Not my type, but she's a sweet girl. Think she'd like you."

"Y'think?"

"Sure. You're not the worst-lookin' guy in the world."

"Yeah. That'd be you," and Bucky'd smacked him in the arm with a laugh.

Then, like a lightning flash on the slate-grey sky, it'd been a chance. Only a chance. He'd already had five tries, his lies were all laid out on the table, and he was offered a chance. His unsteady heart fluttering in his chest. The room was almost spinning. "I'll take it," he said, he practically _begged,_ all of five-foot-four and ninety-five pounds. And then he went into surgery in the barest hours of the morning, before the birds awoke. He only had an hour or two to admire how flat he was now, then he was pumped full of mystery chemicals and hormones, and, Lord, if Bucky could see him now.

He smiles now, thinking back on it. Once in a while he'll give himself a good look in the mirror; his strong jaw, ever-so-slightly-crooked nose, and the faint scars on his chest. They're damn near impossible to see if you aren't looking. But when he does, he chuckles, disbelieving, like he had the day he got 'em.

He doesn't smile so much when he goes to the museum. The faces of the other Commandos make him feel like he's choking, and seeing himself smiling and laughing with his best friend since grade school has him turning on a dime and heading out into the hall, away, away, away. Buck hadn't just known; he'd been the sturdy leg on the table of Steve's life, and all the more important when his ma died. He'd saved up for Steve's first suit that'd been just for him, even though it was loose and the seams were coming apart in the seat of the pants and on the right elbow and below the collar. The two of 'em had to stitch the holes themselves, but Steve cried the first time he put it on and squeezed Bucky as tight as his scrawny little arms could manage.

He winds up in a club one night, hood up and eyes red, and asks for the strongest thing they have. It's been sixty-eight years to the day since Bucky fell off the train, and Steve still can't shake the feeling that he should've done more.

"You feelin' alright there, big guy?" Someone's sat down beside him; a man (he thinks) with black hair pulled back into a poofy ponytail and kind eyes and a little bit of scruff. "Haven't seen you 'round here before."

He lets out a soft sound that isn't quite a grunt but isn't really anything else. "Nothin' I haven't dealt with before." He downs the rest of his drink and the bartender gives him a refill.

"Shit, that's some hard stuff. Y'gonna make it home alright?"

"I'll be fine. Barely gives me a buzz."

"Right. Super soldier." They hold out a hand. "Charlie. He/they."

Steve shakes it. "Steve. He."

Charlie orders some fruity cocktail with a cherry in it. "I looked up to you a lot as a kid."

"Hm?"

"It's a classic with us folks. Scrawny little shit who's barely considered a man, then winds up as the epitome of masculine? That's pretty much the dream."

Steve's brow furrows. "Whaddya mean, 'us folks'?"

"Well, uh." Charlie rubs the back of his neck. "That part's kinda . . . d'y'know what transgender is? Have y'heard of that yet?"

"Yeah. Guys born gals, gals born guys; that kinda thing. Right?"

"Yeah. That's the basic idea. So-"

"'T's not exactly new," he chuckles.

Charlie blinks. "What?"

"Well, America's poster boy wasn't always a poster _boy,_ exactly." Steve lifts up his hoodie and the shirt beneath to reveal the scars below his pecs. "I didn't just get the serum that day."

"Shit, _what?_ Holy-" Charlie's staring now, almost tracing the faint line with his finger. "Damn. Maybe I shoulda seen that comin', I guess, huh?" He laughs. "Congrats on gettin' top surgery, man."

Steve smiles in reply and lets his hoodie fall. "Didn't exactly tell a lotta people. 'Specially back then."

"I can only imagine." Charlie whistles. "Fuck. James isn't gonna fuckin' believe this."

"James?"

"My boyfriend. He pretty much worshiped you and the other Howlies. Named himself after Bucky." He pauses. "I mean, if you don't want me to-"

"Nah, it's fine. Go ahead and tell 'im." Steve handed over some cash to the bartender and started to stand. "You have a good night, Charlie."

"You too, Steve."

It's quiet in his apartment. He flicks on the lights in his kitchen boots up his laptop, heading for the blog he'd started up a few months back. There are only two entries with text and a handful of pictures Tony and Nat had helped him upload. He starts up a new post and just starts talking, his fingers going and going and going until the sky is pale pink and orange and he starts to yawn, but it's only half an hour until it's time for his morning jog, so he puts on a pot of coffee and makes some toast and reads it over a couple times before he posts it.

_Erased History; Captain America and Being Queer._

He's in the club again a few weeks later. His blog is picking up some traction, with the most recent entry using names and dates, and Charlie's there with a scrawny little thing with short-cropped hair and empty ear piercings and what's clearly a binder under a mesh shirt. He gives the couple a little wave.

"I talked to Leonnie," Charlie tells him as he and his companion come over. "She wanted you to know that she named a drink after you."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. The Sneaky Captain. It's really just peach juice and vodka with a blue maraschino, but-"

"Pink, blue, and white. Clever."

"See? I told'ya he'd get it, James."

A blush creeps up James's face. He signs something to Charlie.

"Your blog post really inspired him," Charlie translates, before adding, "finally got him outta the house, at least."

Steve shrugs. "Figured people should know the truth."


End file.
